


Nor Am I Out Of It

by centreoftheselights



Category: Greta Helsing Series - Vivian Shaw
Genre: Aromantic Fastitocalon, Boss/Employee to Friends, Coming To Understandings, Demon Anthropological Discussions, Demons, Love Confession Of A Sort, Non-Romantic Love Confession, Obscure Fandoms, Other, Probably the most obscure relationship I've ever written and that's saying something, Queerplatonic Fastitocalon/Samael - Freeform, Queerplatonic Relationships, Spoilers for Book 3 Grave Importance, Standing Outside At A Party, The Inherent Intimacy Of Standing Next To Each Other At Nighttime, Weddings, quiet conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: Greta makes an observation at the wedding reception that leads Fastitocalon to question his relationship with Samael.
Relationships: Fastitocalon & Dr. Greta Helsing, Fastitocalon & Samael, Queerplatonic Fastitocalon/Samael
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Nor Am I Out Of It

It was late.

The wedding reception had gone on late into the evening – or rather, into the early hours of the morning – and despite his joy, Fastitocalon had quietly excused himself from the loud music and the crowd of celebrants, and slipped out onto the terrace to enjoy some quiet in the cool night air.

He hadn't been particularly surprised to hear footsteps behind him, and of course he had known who it was before he even turned – but he turned anyway. Greta was luminous with happiness – quite literally so, to Fass's mirabilic gaze. All trace of nerves from the ceremony earlier had vanished, and her aura shone with warm amber hues like the first rays of sunrise.

“I'm quite alright,” he said lightly. “You needn't abandon the party for my sake.”

Greta shrugged, and came to stand alongside him, resting her arms on the balustrade. Fastitocalon did not push any further – he was far from the only one capable of being overwhelmed, and besides which, it was always pleasant to have a few moments where it was just the two of them.

After a few moments, Greta spoke:

“Do demons get married?”

He hesitated.

“It rather depends what you mean by that,” he said lightly. “Hell is not known for its churches, after all. But there are romantic relationships, of course, and some people make promises to one another. It's all a bit less formal than humans do it, though – if you want to designate someone your heir, or give them familial rights, then that's its own separate process with its own multitude of forms…” He trailed off, belatedly noticing Greta's eyes sparkling with the kind of look she'd once had as a young girl seeking mischief. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I'm just regretting not asking you to join the crowd when I tossed the bouquet,” she said, grinning.

“I hardly think that a romantic union is in my immediate future,” Fass observed dryly.

“Well – not romantic, of course not.” Greta was well aware of his preferences on that front, and indeed it was only due to her earnest support in the matter that he was even _aware_ of the human term 'aromanticism'. “But from the sound of it, Hell's relationship framework is rather more flexible than that.”

He furrowed his brow.

“Even if I were interested in seeking companionship, my work with Sam has kept me far too busy to -”

Greta's eyes were shining in the moonlight, and Fastitocalon suddenly realised what she was suggesting, and stopped abruptly. He wasn't often lost for words, but…

Greta laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“You don't have to say anything,” she murmured. And then, through thought alone, she added: _I'm just glad you have someone to take care of you_.

A lump formed in Fass's throat. Perhaps it was the emotionality of the wedding, or perhaps he had drunk too much of the generous quantities of champagne Lord Ruthven had provided.

He squeezed Greta's hand, and thought back: _And I, you_.

Then, out loud, he added: “We should return to the merry-making. I'm sure your husband is wondering where you've disappeared to.”

Mentioning Varney in such a way inevitably made Greta's aura light up in a firework of excitement, which was of course why he'd done it. She laughed, a little dizzily - “Oh! I have a husband.” - and took Fastitocalon's proffered arm as he led her back inside.

#

Once the party finally wound down and the guests of honour had departed for the honeymoon – and after Ruthven had shooed him away from helping clean up at least three times – Fastitocalon flipped himself back to Hell. He had been meaning to end up in his apartment, but given the persistent course of his thoughts since his conversation with Greta, it was no great surprise to find himself instead in his office in the Department of Monitoring & Evaluation.

It was outside of work hours, of course, so the office was empty but for a few scuttling ears. But Hell was never completely asleep, and Fastitocalon lingered awhile at his window, watching the lights of Hell moving down below.

The sight was so familiar – and yet strange – and yet becoming familiar again. Once, this had been his entire world. Then it had been lost to him. Yet slowly – and still faster than he'd expected – it was becoming 'home' once more.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

It somehow both was and wasn't a surprise to see Sam, looking through the doorway, waiting for permission to enter – as though he needed any. Fass nodded, and Sam walked towards him, easy smile on his face.

“How was the wedding?” he asked.

“It was beautiful. I'm very happy for them both.” Fass smiled. “Greta asked me to pass on her well wishes.”

Sam shook his head. “She's too kind.”

“She always was.”

They looked out at the city together for a few moments.

“Greta said something strange at the reception.”

Fastitocalon found the words slipping out of his mouth, even though he hadn't bidden them there. Sam had always been too easy to talk to.

“Hmm?”

“She observed that we have been… working closely together recently.”

Sam chuckled.

“Well, she isn't wrong,” he said. “You _are_ one of my closest advisors.”

“Of course,” Fass said quickly, not sure if he was glad of an excuse to drop the subject or… disappointed.

“But,” Sam continued, slowly. “I think we both know that wasn't what she – or you – were asking.”

Fastitocalon took a breath in, ready to give some excuse, to escape away from the unspoken weight that the conversation was now orbiting – but then Sam opened his mouth to speak, and the words died on his tongue.

“Fastitocalon,” Sam said. “I hope that you are aware that I have developed a particular regard for you, since you returned to us.”

Fass blinked.

“You have?” he asked, genuinely astonished.

“Of course,” Sam said, and his tone left no room for any doubt. “You are… fascinating, in ways that I have only barely begun to discover. I can't pretend that the development isn't recent -”

 _I have loved you for thousands of years_ , a part of Fass though immediately, then regretted just as fast – but if Sam had heard, he showed no outward sign.

“- and I think the time you spent on Earth was a part of it, yes. But… you aren't the first demon to spend time on Earth, and yet there's something about you…”

Fastitocalon hesitated, revisiting that last thought. Was it true? In a way, yes, he had loved Samael since The Fall, as so many of them had… but that didn't mean that he felt the same now as he had then. In fact, the last year or so had been markedly different.

And perhaps Sam had heard this, because he chose that moment to add:

“It doesn't hurt that you're one of the few people who isn't afraid to disagree with me. You don't think I'm infallible.”

“You aren't,” Fastitocalon agreed flatly. But then again, hadn't there been a time when he had thought otherwise? Even not so long ago, he had trusted blindly.

Now? He trusted with his eyes wide open. Samael was very good at what he did, and Fastitocalon wanted to help him with that. With _all_ of it, not just the bureaucracy, but all the normal, everyday parts of being too.

“So, Greta was right to consider us… friends?” Fastitocalon asked, trying to keep the desperate note out of his voice.

“Friends is a good start,” Sam said, and for a moment Fass thought he saw a flash of nervousness mirrored on his friend's face. “I care about you. And I intend to continue doing so for a long time.”

Impulsively, Fastitocalon reached out a hand, lacing their fingers together. Sam squeezed back tightly.

Then the two of them stood a while, watching the morning traffic move on the streets of Hell below.


End file.
